Recalling A Dead Woman Walking

I don’t remember how old I was, maybe eight or nine, but I’ll never forget the day it happened.  I was riding my bike down Hickory Street on my way to the depot to greet the afternoon train.  But on this particular day I never made it to the train station.  By the time the train arrived, I was trying to recover from one of the greatest shocks of my young life.  I had heard stories in Sunday School about the very thing I had witnessed, but I never thought it would happen in real life.  I had just seen a dead woman—walking down the street!

My grandmother had a large network of friends—“the little old ladies” we called them.  They kept in touch with each other and I often overheard my grandmother on the phone sharing that Miss Louise, or Miss Elmer, or Miss Faye (we never addressed an elder lady without the appropriate Southern title—“Miss”) was not feeling well.  Most of the time not feeling well meant they had a “spell,” an ambiguous malady that covered a whole host of ailments. 

I figured that spells were not good and if you had enough of them they would certainly kill you.  For some reason my grandmother liked for me to go with her up to Peck’s Funeral Parlor for the viewings.  I didn’t mind because it was next to the railroad station and I could keep a watch out for trains.  The viewing room with the open casket was full of fragrant flowers where people spoke in hushed voices.  After the little old ladies admired how good she looked and speculated on the last time she wore that dress to church, they got down to the serious business of what led to their friend’s demise. 

“Well you know,” one of the ladies would usually say while the others leaned in intently, “she’d been having some spells.”  The other little old ladies would gravely shake their heads in agreement while I slipped away to look for some trains. 

One afternoon my grandmother told me that we needed to go to the funeral parlor to see Miss Louise.  “What happened?”  I asked with surprise.  Miss Louise was often at my grandmother’s house and I always liked her.  “Had she been having some spells?” 

The funeral parlor was packed with little old ladies that afternoon.  Miss Louise’s death was a great shock, even though she had been having some spells.  I went up the casket and sure enough, there she was, Miss Louise.  “She just wore that dress to church last Sunday,” I heard one of the ladies say.  I remembered the dress and recalled her being at my grandmother’s house just a few days before.  I couldn’t believe she was gone but the most unbelievable thing was what happened a few days later.

As I rode by bike down Hickory Street I saw none other than Miss Louise walking on the sidewalk.  It all seemed so normal that I didn’t process it at first.  There was Miss Louise, in fact she smiled and said hello.  But the last time I saw her she was in a casket!  Suddenly my heart starting racing and I started to tremble.  As I turned around and headed for my grandmother’s house I thought about Jesus calling Lazarus out of the grave.  Is this what happened?  Had Jesus arrived on the afternoon train?  Was he closing shop at the funeral parlor? 

Out of breath I ran into my grandmother’s house and reported that I had witnessed a miracle.  “You’re not going to believe it,” I said.  “But I just saw Miss Louise walking down the street!”  My grandmother started to laugh!   She laughed so hard I thought she was having a spell.   “You didn’t know that Miss Louise has a twin sister?” she finally said. 

Tomorrow morning on Easter Sunday you are going to hear about a man who came back from the dead.  We will read Scripture, sing hymns, hear anthems and sermons—all about a man who was dead one day and alive the next.  Will anyone be laughing?